


Caught it by the Blade

by CheerUpLovely



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Spinal Injury, Surgery, surgical torture, surgical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6318880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheerUpLovely/pseuds/CheerUpLovely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the spoiler that a hostage situation will go down at Palmer Tech when someone's after the chip in Felicity's spine...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught it by the Blade

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I have to confess, this idea got the best of me. It’s based on the spoiler of a hostage situation at Palmer Tech whereby they’re looking for the implant in Felicity’s spine (for this purpose, they’re back together) and I…well, I did the thing I always do. Only this time I broke @aussieforgood with it and she was still amazing enough to make this wonderful artwork for it. So…trigger warnings aplenty, and buckle up!

When he was in Shanghai, Oliver learned about the Red String of Fate, a Chinese legend that believed the gods would tie an invisible red cord around the ankles of those destined to meet one another. These people were destined to be lovers, regardless of time, place, or circumstance - bound by a cord which could stretch or tangle, but never break. It lead to the later concepts of soulmates. **  
**

He thinks about that idea a lot. At first he disregarded it as foolish, but supposed it wasn’t all that different to how the thoughts of Laurel powered him to get home. But that adoration faded and it was clear that they weren’t meant to be.

Now, he attributes it to her. Felicity. He wonders if that red string first appeared when he saw her in the office that night, whether it was that tether which pulled him to her car the night his mother shot him, whether that string had ever neared a snagging point every time he walked away from her.

He wonders if it’s that string that pulls him to her when he bursts into Palmer Tech in search of her.  

All the hostages were released except for her. He’s watched his sister and Donna leave the building ahead of her, watched Curtis be almost dragged out by the police, and he watches, watches, waits…but she doesn’t appear. He remembers she was wearing a bright blue sweater that morning with a pair of dark grey pants, remembers that her hair was down and curling around her shoulders, remembers that she wore her glasses, not her contacts. He knows he would have remembered these details even if he hadn’t laid in bed and watched her get ready for work - a coveted pleasure he can enjoy again now that they’re back together - but as he scans the crowd to see if he’s missed her, he can’t locate her.

He can’t see her, can’t hear her, can’t feel her. But he can feel a tug towards the building that tells him she’s still inside. He starts thinking about that string again, whether it’s pulling him towards her, whether this is the universe telling him that his soulmate needs him, whether such ideas even exist.

But he’s certain that she’s still inside, and he’s certain that she isn’t safe there.

He searches the ground floor and bolts up a flight of stairs until he feels it - the pull. And he finds her there, in what was once a presentation suite for demonstrative meetings. Oliver used it as a hook-up means around ten years ago thanks to the shielded windows that didn’t allow any light penetration. It made sense they’d take her to the one room he couldn’t see her from the outside.

What doesn’t make sense is the amount of blood that covers the room.

“Felicity….”

There’s no reply from her, no hint of movement, and as he steps closer he sees the blood pooling beneath the table from a wound along her spine. It’s at least four inches long, providing a view of her inner flesh that he never should have seen. Her sweater is pushed up, but the edges are soaked in blood that makes the fabric appear a rich purple instead. Besides the table is an array of blood-soaked tools that appear more surgical than torturous, and his stomach rolls as if he’s going to be sick.

It’s an operating theatre.

This blood is hers…and it’s on the floor, it’s on the chairs, it’s all over her… it’s still coming from her, and it’s her spine open on this desk they’ve used as a table for her, and he’s never been so afraid to apply pressure to a wound. But he has to do something because she’s bleeding, and there’s already so much blood and — “Felicity, no, no, _no_ ….oh, my _god_ …”

“Oliver?”

Her voice is weak but he hones in on it like she’s a beacon in a storm. It tremors as he reaches her head, seeing now how her hands are shaking, how her head is turned so he can see her lips wobbling as if she’s about to cry but her sobs are withheld unlike the tear-stains on her too-pale cheeks.

“I’m here, hon,” he tells her, placing one hand on the side of her head to smooth back her hair. The curls from that morning seem flattened now, slumped onto the desk corner at her other shoulder. “I’m right here.”

A fresh roll of tears erupt onto her cheeks, and while relief sneaks into her features it does nothing to replace the fear on her ashen face. “Oliver, they…”

“It’s okay, just stay with me,” he urges her, finding one of her hands and clasping it tightly. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I can’t _feel_ anything-” she says, her voice choking on the final word.

“Just breathe,” he tells her, wishing that his own tone was as calming as he hopes it is. It’s not, it’s far from it, but he can’t help that now. “Breathe, hon. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

“Felicity!”

_No. Oh, God, no._

“Felici-”

He’s burst away from her side, slamming his hands against the closed door to keep the new arrival out. He knew others followed him inside in search of Felicity, but what has happened in this room is not something Donna can witness. He can’t allow her to see her daughter cut open over a desk and left there when her tormentors had scarpered. He can’t allow her to see this.

“Donna, _NO_!” He cries out, cracking the door open just a fraction after when he sees the more familiar shadow of John right behind her. “Digg, get her away from here,” he tells him, his voice low but urgent. “Call the medics, tell them they’ve gone, and she’s open.”

“ _Open_ -” he starts to question with widening eyes, but Oliver shakes his head when he steps forward.

“Get the medics, _now_ ,” he urges.

“Can’t we-”

He shakes his head. “I won’t move her.”

Moving her now could be catastrophic, he knows that, and it takes a lot for him to admit that when his every instinct wants to gather her into his arms and run like hell. But he’s pretty sure if he looks closely enough at the wound on her back then he’ll be able to see bone, and that terrifies him. Whatever determination crosses his features must convey easily to John, who nods and tries to lead Donna away. “Alright,” he says to Oliver as he closes the door again and leans his forehead against his.

“Oliver?”

Her questioning tone pulls him back to her, and he gravitates back to her because being apart from her is something he’s proven he cannot survive. He hesitates only to take a sheet that’s folded nearby - why do they have a sheet? Were they going to use it to cover her body with after they were done with her? - and lay it over her exposed lower back. After, he takes one of the rolling executive chairs and brings it up to the space beside her head, one arm curling protectively around her head his other links their hands together.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” he assures her.

“You said I’m open,” she points out, her eyebrows knitting together as her voice trembles and her upper body shifts. “Did they-?”

“Felicity, don’t move,” he mutters quickly, moving one arm to settle her shoulders before he returns it to its former position.

“Is it gone?” She asks him tightly, the warning heartbreak of what his answer may reveal all too evident on her face.

He knows they were after the chip that Curtis created, the one that was surgically implanted in her spine. That’s what they were looking for, that’s why she’s cut open on a table. When they started to search the building, they’ve ran and left her here - to bleed out, to _die_ \- and he’s not sure whether they escaped with their intended prize or not. All he’s sure of is that she’s in a very real danger right now, and while part of him wants to hunt down these monsters, there’s a part of him that worries this is already too much blood to lose and the idea of being away from her side right now is unthinkable.

“I don’t know, hon,” he swallows, his thumb brushing over her forehead. “But whatever they were doing, they didn’t finish, so Digg’s getting the medics to come in,” he explains calmly.

He watches the fear of that realisation settle over her features. She sucks in a breath as she seems to pale even further and another rush of tears spring to her frightened eyes. “Oh my _god_ -” she starts to whimper, lifting her head to try and see over her shoulder, but he stops her.

“Hey, look at me,” he urges her, guiding her gaze back to his own. “Everything’s going to be okay. We’re just going to wait right here, and stay very still, okay?”

She clamps down on her lower lip, biting back a sob that might do more harm than good in that moment. He sees it then, sees the the understanding that she’s fighting - she could die. It’s why he’s sat with her and not off chasing down the men that did this to her. He’s sat at her side because he doesn’t want her to be alone and scared in her final moments, and they both know it.

“They wanted the chip. They said…they said they’d let everyone go,” she tells him, swallowing thickly to try and stay as calm as possible. “I didn’t think they knew it was still in me. I didn’t think they’d really-”

“It’s okay,” he cuts her off, when her breath starts coming a little too quickly again. “Maybe they didn’t, we don’t know. So let’s just focus on what we _do_ know, okay?” Oliver suggests, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

“Okay…” she whispers.

“Talk me through it,” he suggests.

“I…they drugged me,” she tells him, her eyes searching around without settling on him as she tries to recall what happened in those frightening moments. “I don’t know what with. They injected me with something.”

“Okay,” he says, and while his voice is calm, he knows that this is the least calm he’s ever felt. This is as bad as when she was unconscious and bleeding in his arms. Every time he gets her a little closer, she’s bleeding out beside him and he’s trying not to see that as a terrible omen. “What are you feeling?”

She doesn’t answer right away, slipping her eyes closed before she focuses on him again. He can’t fight the way his heart jumps into his throat when she shuts her eyes. “My head feels fuzzy…everything feels…slow…” she explains.

“Okay,” he swallows. “We’ll tell the medics that.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” she whispers, her voice hitching slightly as she squeezes his hand back weakly.

“Hey, _none_ of this is your fault,” he assures her.

“I wanted to be brave,” she tells him, taking a breath as fresh tears spill over her cheeks. “I wanted to get our family safe and I wanted to be brave until this was all over but…”

“Felicity…” he murmurs.

“I don’t _want_ to be brave,” she cuts over him, with a staggered inhale which he knows is her wanting to dissolve into tears that are far better suited to their whispered confessions in the middle of the night, when nightmares plague them and try to drag them away. “Oliver, I’m so _scared_.”

“It’s okay. I’m here now,” he assures her, tightening his hand around hers and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You can be scared, and I’ll be brave, okay?”

“What if they-”

“We’re not going to worry about anything until we have to,” he stops her, because he doesn’t want to think about how hard it’ll be for her to go back to the wheelchair after the freedom of getting her ability to walk back. He may not have been there for the first emotional weeks of her being back on her feet, but he’s been there for the weeks since, and he’s watched her confidence flood back to her, watched her grow all the more for her experience, he has watched her regain her former habits, the way her foot taps against her desk leg, the way she adds a skip to her step when she’s excited, the pacing when she’s frustrated… he doesn’t imagine how it must feel to lose that for a second time.

He knows it’ll be easy to squeeze her hand, to tell her that no matter what happens, they’ll handle it together. It’ll be easy for the words to fall out of his mouth, but that will be a lie. If this is something they have to endure again, his support will be nothing compared to the strength she will need.

Now? She has none.

Her body has been invaded, butchered, and abandoned. Regardless of implant possibly being ripped from her spine, there’s no telling what other damage she may have sustained in their amatuer surgery.

How can he tell her that she’s going to be okay?

Simple. Because it’s the only thing he can do for her.

He squeezes her hand. “Right now, all we need to do is stay still, and stay calm, and we can do that,” he tells her softly, as quiet and peacefully as if they’ve settled down in bed for the night and he’s whispering that he loves her. “That’s easy.”

She swallows, her tears continuing as she bites at her trembling lip. “I’m so scared,” she whispers, in a way that breaks his heart right down the middle.

Because this is not okay. And this is just the beginning.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her forehead once again. “This is all going to be over soon.”

–

Oliver sits with her for only a few more moments before the paramedics are bursting in. He knows there were several teams on hand while the growing hostage situation had unfolded. He knows that no one was harmed and several people were being treated for shock. So he knows that there are several teams of medics who can help her right now and it won’t take them long to get to work.

“Mr. Queen-” they start, and he’s instantly on his feet, standing over her head protectively as they come in and set up.

“We haven’t moved her,” he explains, gesturing towards the sheet. “She’s got an-”

He stops as they lift the sheet he’s used to cover Felicity’s open back, and then the team of three medics fall into silence. Oliver’s not stupid, he knows what that silence means. He sees the way they exchange looks quickly, assessing what needs to be done, and he knows that it’s exactly as bad as he fears.

They are doubting their ability to deal with this.

It makes his blood still, but he can’t show it. She needs him to be strong, to be a hand she can hold and to be the one in charge. Every night he places his life in her hands and allows her to guide him, she directs him, she brings him back safely all because she is watching over him. Now, he needs to do that for her. He needs to be her Overwatch, not her Green Arrow. Brute strength and precision can’t help them here, the skills she needs far surpass anything he is capable of. He can only be a pillar, a safety net, but he can’t be her saviour here.

“Okay, we can take it from here. Miss Smoak-”

She clenches his hand the moment the medics speak, and Oliver is the one who cuts them off. “She said they injected her with something,” he explains. “She can’t feel anything from her waist down. They were trying to get to the chip in her spine, the one that-.”

“Did they take it?” The medic in charge is rushed as he asks. There’s an urgency in his tone that makes him nervous, and Oliver’s eyes fly to the other medics who are exposing Felicity’s wound. One is prepping a backboard, which assures him they’re planning to move her more safely than he could, but he knows how it’s going to feel to her - to be carried out to an ambulance strapped down for potential spinal injury in front of a vast majority of her workforce.

It’s not a thought they should be having in light of what they’re facing, but he knows it’s something she’ll worry about later, when this is over.

 _If_ this over.

“She doesn’t know,” he tells them as he snaps back into focus. “They were interrupted and left her open.”

“Okay, let’s take a look.”

He loses their attention and rightly so. These medics are vastly educated, qualified for their position, trained to handle situations like this. He forces himself to acknowledge that, and not the trepidation in their eyes as they face her injury. Felicity’s hand tugs on his again, and a whisper of “Oliver” has him back at her side in an instant.

“I’m here.”

—

“Mr. Queen.”

The lead medic draws him away a few minutes later, and while he has to leave Felicity’s side, he only moves a few feet away from her, but he does it with all the hesitance of a new father leaving his child’s side for the first time. He doesn’t want to bear the thought of what might happen when she isn’t holding his hand, he doesn’t want to let go, even for a second. Even the three feet he has to step away is too far to be apart from her.

“Is she going to be okay?” Oliver asks, folding his arms over his chest as he reluctantly turns his back on Felicity’s prone form.

“The chip’s still in her spine. It seems she was given a localised anaesthesia to numb her lower body during the procedure,” the medic confirmed, and Oliver releases a sigh of breath that seems to sink into every muscle of his body. The chip’s still in place, she’ll walk, she’ll run, she’ll be okay. They didn’t take away her happiness, didn’t take away everything she’d worked so hard to regain. “Our priorities at this point are stabilising her.”

Wait. Stabilising? That doesn’t sound a lot like moving her. He thought that’s what they were doing, stabilising her so they could get to the hospital. If she isn’t stabilised already, how much more blood has she lost? There was so much already. “But…she’s awake, she’s okay,” he argues weakly, his eyes darting to the side to see the still-open incision on her back that they’ve packed to try and stall the bleeding a little. It doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job.

“She’s lost a lot of blood, Mr. Queen,” the medic explains.

His heart jerks when he notes that apologetic tone. “So we go to the hospital?” Oliver checks.

There’s hesitation, then a single head shake. “That’s where we have a problem. We can’t move her.”

 _No_. No, she _needs_ to be moved. She has to be moved. She’s lying face down on a desk as her life force drains away. There’s blood dripping from the edge of the desk into puddles on the floor. She’s taken bullets aplenty and she’s shed too much blood already. He’s had enough of her being targetted, being taken from him, and again, he’s watching her fade away. He’s sat gripping her hand because she is bleeding out and there’s nothing he can do about it.

This isn’t just the woman he loves near death - this is the woman he loves being tortured. His mind is drawn again to the existence of that Red String of Fate, and he wonders what will become of him if she’s taken from him. He’s almost crumpled before, almost lost her and felt the threat of a life without her, but it’s nothing compared to the realisation that this will not be swift and painless. This will be slow and agonising, and this isn’t what he wants for her.

“What-”

“She has an open incision on her spine,” the medic reminds him - as if he needs a reminder. “We need to get a surgeon out here with whatever blood stores we have and get her stabilised here before we move her to the hospital.”

He sighs again, this time with no relief in it’s deflation. “How much blood has she lost?”

“At least a pint, possibly more, that we can estimate from the state of the room.”

“Oh my god…” he runs a hand over his face, pausing for a moment as he tries to gather himself. At the moment, she can survive, but if she loses much more… he’s fully aware of what blood loss does to a person, of the limits the body can go to before they succumb. He knows that Felicity’s heart is racing in fear and that won’t be helping her current condition.

“The surgeon is his way, he should be here in under ten minutes. We just need to keep Miss Smoak calm,” the medic continues. “We don’t know how much anaesthesia she was given, and if she starts regaining any feeling before we can get the doctor out here, any movement could cause a catastrophic injury.”

What he means is; keep her calm, because if it wears off, she’ll feel that she has an open surgical wound and it will be the most painful thing she’ll ever have to endure in her life.

“Okay, I can…I can do that.”

He hopes.

Oliver returns to her side, dropping back into the chair as the medics continue their efforts to stall the bleeding. “Is it bad?” Felicity asks quietly, paying more attention to the way he has to gather himself than the way his hand trembles momentarily as he slides it back around hers.

“There’s good news,” he tells her, finding that he doesn’t have to entirely force the smile. “They didn’t take the chip, it’s still there.”

Her tears don’t mask her relieved sigh. “Oh, thank god,” she whispers.

“The reason you can’t feel anything right now is because they gave you an anaesthetic to numb everything,” he explains, and she nods before she presses further.

“What’s the bad news?”

He takes a breath first before he speaks quietly. “They don’t know how much anaesthetic they gave you.”

Felicity’s face flickers in understanding. “So it might wear off.”

He doesn’t have to answer directly, because it won’t help the matter. Instead, he squeezes her hand. “It’s okay,” he assures her instead. “The doctor’s just a few minutes out.”

She frowns lightly. “Why is the doctor coming here?”

“Because the incision in your back is pretty big, and while it’s still open you’re losing a lot of blood, and they don’t think it’s safe to move you just yet.”

He hates the way her face twists. It doesn’t look afraid for a moment, doesn’t appear pained or even scared. There’s a stillness to her features, one of acceptance, of peace, even, and that scares him. Because he has been in this moment and he has felt the same finality wash over him. She fully understands what’s he’s just explained to her, and more so, she’s accepted it. Death is a real possibility here. She’s laid fearing it since the moment she was left alone, and now he’s confirmed it for her.

Oh God, he’s just delivered her death sentence with his own lips. Lips that should kiss her, that should love and cherish her, speak only words of love and danger. His ring lays on her finger, ready to make her his wife, ready to spend the rest of his life’s journey with her, and instead he’s preparing her for one final journey that he cannot take with her.

“ _Oh_ ,” she whispers.

He squeezes her hand again, biting his lip this time. “It’s okay, everything’s under control.”

“Are you scared?” She asks quietly.

Yes. _Yes_ , he’s terrified. He’s scared that he’ll wake up tomorrow and she won’t be here anymore. He’s scared that soon they’ll step away and tell him that there’s nothing more to do. He’s scared that her eyes will close before he’s ready and he won’t say goodbye before she slips away. He’s scared of saying goodbye altogether, scared that he’ll have to bury the woman he loves. He’s scared of living a life without her. He’s scared that the weeks he spent away from her because of his secrets were a waste of time spend when he could have been loving her, cherishing her, marrying her.

“No, because we have a plan, and it’s a good plan,” he tells her confidently, not sure where the strength comes from, but he gathers as much of it as he can. “You’re going to be fine.”

“What if the anaesthetic stops working?” Felicity asks with hesitance.

“Then it’s going to hurt for a while,” he tells her honestly. “But it’s important that you don’t move, okay?”

“I don’t know if I could,” she sighs, her voice shaking.

“Of course you can,” he assures her, forcing a smile. “I’m right here, what’s there to be worried about?”

A supply of fresh tears spill over onto her ever-paling cheeks. “Oliver…”

“Hey, everything’s going to be fine,” he whispers to her, kissing her forehead before he leans back, brushing his thumb over her hairline. He does that when she can’t sleep, when nightmares of her own come for her. When she’s too afraid to surrender to her subconscious because gunfire and gas wait for her behind closed lids, he combs his fingers through her hair, focusing small circles along her temple. “Why don’t you close your eyes, okay?”

“I’m scared to,” she confesses.

“Why?”

“What if I don’t wake up?”

It breaks his heart, because it’s a possibility. In that moment, he wants to tell her that he loves her. He wants to tell her that she’s the greatest thing that’s ever happened to him, that he considers her mere presence in his life a privilege, and knows that her love is far more than he’ll ever deserve. He wants to tell her that she’ll make a beautiful bride, a devoted mother, and that he’ll grow old with her at his side, happy in ways only she can make him. He wants to make sure that if she closes her eyes, she drifts away with no thoughts other than that she is loved, and she is not alone.

But he can’t say these things, because this will be a goodbye. And she’ll know that. She needs to know that he believes she’s going to be okay, and him saying goodbye will scare her. It’ll make her say it back, and then they’ll be sat there both waiting for her to die waiting for the doctor to arrive. That’s not how he wants this moment to pass.

So he plasters a gentle smile to his face, bringing his forehead level with hers. It’s simple, as if they’ve crawled into bed and settled for the night. He tries to believe that as well. “You’re going to wake up. And when you do, I’m going to be right there next to you, the first thing you see, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers.

And she closes her eyes.

–

Felicity doesn’t open her eyes when the surgeon from the hospital arrives, she only slams them shut more tightly, clinging to Oliver’s hand as tightly as she can as he explains to them both that he’s going to close the incision most of the way, pack the rest of the wound enough that they can get her to the hospital, and then get her into surgery properly to make sure there’s no damage unaccounted for.

He seems optimistic, and for the first time since he heard of the hostage situation, Oliver feels hopeful.

The surgeon works as best he can in the terrible circumstances, and Oliver casts a glance enough that he can see them working, that the bleeding seems to be slowing now that the wound is being closed, and just as it reaches over halfway, he squeezes her hand and leans a little closer to her.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart, you’re doing great,” he murmurs.

“Is it over?” Felicity asks distantly, her grip on his hand starting to falter.

“Almost,” he assures her. “As soon as they’re done we’re going to be on our way to the hospital.”

“My head’s really fuzzy,” she mumbles.

“It’s almost done, hon,” he repeats, returning his hand to the path it was coasting through her hair.

“I’m tired,” she whispers.

It’s happening. She’s slipping. They haven’t given her anything more as she’s already under anaesthesia, and there’s no reason for her to be falling asleep. It’s barely midday, it can’t be a genuine exhaustion, which leaves only one option - she’s succumbing to her blood loss.

“Don’t go to sleep, Felicity, stay with me,” he urges, bringing his hand down to cradle her cheek.

“Tired,” she whispers, before one heavy sigh sends her further away from him.

He panics, tapping his hand against her cheek as he tries to bring a reaction from her. “Felicity, don’t go to sleep…Felicity… _Felicity_ , stay with me….” There’s no response from her, and he looks in a panic to the medics. “Hey, _HEY_ , she’s passed out, I—”

They move quickly, pushing him away from her as they start to work on her. The oxygen mask she’d refused before is slipped over her face. “Okay, she’s lost too much blood, we have to move her, now,” the surgeon decides, and everything erupts. The backboard is slid underneath her front, and they steady her as much as they can considering she cannot lay on her back with her open incision.

And Oliver’s helpless. He can’t do anything. She’s slipping away from him, and he can’t do a thing.

“Ambulance is ready,” a medic calls out.

“Mr. Queen, we need to move her,” they advise him, before he realises his sudden standing means he’s right in their way of moving her. He steps aside, not wanting to hinder her, but catches the arm of the surgeon before he can move behind her.

“Is she going to be okay?”

 _Please_ , he begs unspoken. _Please, don’t tell me I’m going to lose her._

“We need to get her to the hospital,” he answers simply, turning away from Oliver and rushing her away.

—

They almost lose her in the ambulance. It’s just for a moment, but his heart stops along with hers, only he’s not sure he’s restarted when hers did. The strain on her body was getting too much, and he’s not surprised. She should never have to endure this level of hardship, this level of pain… she’s so much better than this. She doesn’t deserve this.

When they arrive at the hospital, they rush her immediately to surgery. He’s grateful at least they told him the plan before, so he knows that they’re going to repair the damage and replenish her blood supply with what it needs, and for that he allows the doors to the surgical ward to close with him on the wrong side of them, and watches as she’s taken away from him.

When it comes to the Red String of Fate, they say it has no determined length, that soulmates can be fathoms apart without being parted.

He thinks they might be wrong.

It’s then that he feels hands on his, pulling him aside, and their family are there. They’d come to the hospital when they realised this was where they’d end up eventually, and they’ve been waiting for them to arrive.

Twenty-two minutes. It’s only been twenty two minutes.

“Oliver…” Donna starts, clasping his hands in hers. They’re shaking. How long has been shaking for? When he last held her hand it was steady, but so much has happened since he was forced to let her go. He can’t remember when he started shaking.

“She’s…” The words die on his tongue. Even his jaw trembles when he speaks and he has to take another breath before he can try to form a sentence that doesn’t border on him dissolving into a far more emotional display. “They took her for…”

“Oliver, hon, sit down,” Donna urges him, and he doesn’t even look for the chair she’s encouraging him sink into before he collapses down. He’s grateful for the support it offers, because it’s only when he’s inches away from that relief that he realises how close he was to his legs buckling beneath him.

They’ve been here before, Oliver and Donna. Him covered in the blood of her daughter and her trying to get answers from him when he can hardly speak. It’s only been a few months since they last did this, and it was an experience that devastated him, and he’s never wanted to go through this again. For as much as he loves Felicity with every inch of his being, she is Donna’s daughter. She’s the little girl that she grew, birthed, raised. She’s held Felicity in her arms as a newborn creation, a saddened child, a beautiful teen. When Oliver thinks about bringing something so precious into this world, he can’t imagine what it would feel like to feel the risk of losing it.

If there is any fear stronger than what he feels right now, he’s not sure his heart could take it.

“What happened?” Donna asks him.

What happened? He almost lost her. He held her hand as she almost died. She. Almost. Died.

“They wanted the chip,” he chokes out, running his shaking his hand over his prickled jaw. “The one Curtis made for her to walk again. They drugged her and tried to take it.”

“You mean-?”

“There was so much blood,” he whispers, his eyes misting over as he shakes his head. “You hear people say that but…god, there was so much blood.”

The smell still lingers, the tangy metallic scent that’s resonating from his pants. There’s blood on the edge of his pants leg, just above his shoe. He doesn’t remember how it got there. He remembers stepping in blood, was there… yeah, that was so much blood. He wonders who will have to clean it up? Is it a job for the crime scene clean-up? Will it fall to the janitors whose salary she pays? Will they go home to their families and feel any sickening horror over cleaning up the blood of the brave woman who’s almost sacrificed everything to free them?

Donna’s face recoils in horror, one hand clasping to her mouth. “Did they-?”

Oliver shakes his head. “They didn’t get it, but…but she was still open. They left her.”

“Oliver-”

“They left her open on the table,” he spat out, looking towards the surgical ward with a bitterness that he hasn’t allowed himself to feel yet. When he cannot be at her side, he feels it - the rage, the desolation, the choking need to take matters into his own hands. Someone chose this for her. Someone looked at his reason for living and decided that she could be butchered. “Bleeding. Drugged…she…” he cut off, shaking his head again. “I thought I was too late. I just got her back…”

“Is she going to be okay?” Donna asks, her voice hitching.

He swallows. “She’s lost _so_ much blood, Donna…”

She urges his attention back to her. She’s a good mother, he knows that. As much as she and Felicity have their differences, she’s the kind of mother he always wanted. She’s warm, openly loving, and she overlooks so many shortcomings in favour of affection. He loved his mother, he wouldn’t ever wish for another in her place, but for as protective and proud as she was of her children, he loves Donna’s warmth, and that’s what he needs - what the both need. “Look at me…she’s going to be okay,” she says firmly, with a determination he knows her daughter has inherited.

“Yeah,” he whispers, not trusting himself to say anything else.

–

She’s been in surgery for an hour when he pushes up and announces that he needs some air. The hospital chokes him, reminds him of Thea’s lifeless form flatlining, reminds him of Felicity riddled with bullets, reminds him of oh, God, all the times he’s lost those two most important people to him. The sight of them in hospital beds is far too easy to invade his waking nightmares because it’s so vivid, so real. Their hearts have stopped, their bodies have been drained, they’ve been mauled, attacked, butchered and left for dead, and that’s happened because they’re unfortunate enough to be a part of his life. Because they’re cursed to be the women he loves.

He remembers an alleyway, remembers a flash of claret as she tells him all the ways he’s hurt the women he’s supposed to love, remembers her saying that she doesn’t want to be a woman that he loves.

She should have stuck with that instinct.

When he gets near the entrance, he sees that John has followed him, determined to stop him from what he knows is coming. They’ve been here before, at the hospital doors with his self-control wavering. “Oliver…”

“Where did they go?” Oliver demands, fisting his hands at his side as he comes to a stop. They’re out there, he knows. The men that hurt her, that cut her open like a slab of meat, as if she were nothing more than an animal for slaughter. They’re out there, and they shouldn’t be. They should be the ones abandoned for dead, bleeding out slowly and painfully.

John sighs. “Not now, man…”

“Digg, where did they go?” He urges, his voice lowering to a dangerous level. It’s one he’s all too familiar with, the one that wraps around his vocal cords when he doesn’t have the connection to Felicity to ground him. It’s the part of him he started to bury away when he first returned home, something dark and twisted that Felicity’s light started to chase away, but then she’s hurt and it’s his fault and it comes seeping back through the shadows, reaching out for him, and the temptation is too strong.

He will never stop ridding the world of people who have hurt the woman he loves. He doesn’t want to live in a world where people who have harmed her - scared her, broken her - are allowed to walk the earth without retribution. Not when they aren’t deserving to breath the same air, to sleep beneath the same stars.

He can’t allow them to live.

“Police have them in custody,” John eventually tells him.

Custody. Breathing. _Living_.

It’s far more than they deserve. It’s too little to be shut away from the sun when they tried to extinguish it altogether.

“I need to pay them a visit,” he decides instantly, turning away and back towards the entrance. He doesn’t know how much longer Felicity will be in surgery, and he needs to get this over with.

“No, you need to be _here_ ,” John corrects him, grabbing his arm to try and ground him.

He tears himself away from his grasp. “Digg, they cut her open and left her there to _die_ ,” he stresses.

“Which is why you need to be here with her.”

“I need to know that they’re _dead_ , John!” he snaps. “I need to see them _suffer_ like they left her to suffer!”

“Oliver-”

“They left her there to _die_!” he reminds him, his voice lowering further to a growl as he continues his point. “They left her there afraid. I want to feel them have the same fear. I want to watch them _bleed_ , hear them _scream_ , watch them–”

“ _Oliver Queen_!”

The voice stills him, the rage slipping away in an instant, because he’s been talking about torturing and killing men in the name of the woman he loves, and her mother is standing right behind him.

Donna, who doesn’t know what he does at night.

Donna, who has already sat at her daughter’s side while he crusades for her safety.

“Donna-”

“You sit down _right now_ , mister,” she insists, and he turns to see her gesturing to a chair.

He exchanges a look with John, who seems to push his determination to run aside and Oliver falls into the chair, gesturing with his hand. “Donna, I can explain-”

She’s just as passionate in her fury as Felicity is when she’s mad, he notes, as Donna’s hands fly wildly around her, delivering a harsh poke to his right shoulder. “You better not go running off and getting yourself killed doing something stupid-”

“That’s not-”

“What makes you think you can take on these monsters?” Donna asks him furiously, scolding him like a child. “They had guns, Oliver. _GUNS_.”

“Donna-”

“Is this where you were the last time?” She asks, her tone incredulous as that realisation slips over her. “Out hurting people instead of being with my baby girl?”

When she puts it like that he feels awful. He always did, but she strips it down to exactly what it was - he left her. Just like he’s trying to leave her now. He can sugar coat it in intents to keep her protected but the reality of it is just that - he’s leaving. He’s so petrified by the idea of losing her that he can’t function.

“Donna-”

She stands upright, one hand on her hip with the other pointing towards the elevator he’s just marched away from. “You are going to go back upstairs and get an update on her condition, or so help me _God_ , the men that did this to her will not be your biggest concern, do we have an understanding?”

 _Do we have an understanding?_ Felicity asks when she tells him to make up with his friend

 _Do we have an understanding?_ Felicity asks when she informs him they will be leaving the Hoffman’s barbecue before midnight

 _Do we have an understanding?_ Felicity asks when she orders him not to leave the bed under pain of her finding a spot on his body that he’s actually ticklish on.

“Yes,” he mutters, dragging himself back to feet.

“And Oliver?”

There are slender arms wrapping around him before he can protest. She’s wearing those ridiculous heels still, ones that land her at the same height as her daughter, and he realises that this woman who loves and cherishes as easily as she breathes is going to be a part of his life forever - whether forever is when he’s grey at the temples and she’s a grandmother, or whether he’s about to lose his fiance and forever ends when he follows her into the abyss.

“Thank you, for always keeping her safe,” she murmurs, a simple acceptance of what he does in the cover of darkness that keeps this city from collapse.

And it’s too much. Because she’s accepting what has brought her daughter so much harm, so much cruelty - she is accepting what made her lose her legs in the first place at a moment that she may lose them all over again. It’s too much to have a mother’s approval for hurting her daughter.

It hurts because a mother’s approval is something he only had at the very end, when he was so close to losing his mother for good. Now that Felicity has her mother’s approval, is this when she loses her?

Will she still accept this part of his life if Felicity doesn’t survive this? Will she be able to look him in the eye when she can only ever see him as the man shrouded in the blood of her her daughter? Will she ever embrace him again when all he has ever embraced her only child in is the darkness that has suffocated her? How can he accept her hand squeezing his in assurance when he took the hand of her daughter and lead her into hell itself?

“I’ll go get that update,” he clears his throat, stepping away before anything else threatens to choke him.

—

All they’ll tell him is that she’s still in surgery, and that’s not what Oliver wants to hear after an hour. His temper hasn’t deflated any, so he’s slamming his hand on the desk demanding more information when Digg pulls him away and apologies to the nurse before he explodes. After that, they stay gathered in the family room, but it’s only another hour before John’s nudging his arm, snapping his attention away from the ticking clock.

“The doctor’s coming back…”

Oliver’s on his feet seconds before Donna’s even gathered herself.

“Is there a fiance of Felicity Smoak here?” The doctor asks.

He steps forward, trying not to see it as a bad sign that this isn’t a doctor he saw back at Palmer Tech. This isn’t the surgeon that he was assured was the best trauma surgeon in a hundred mile radius that was called to keep her alive.

“That’s me,” he clears his throat. “Is she-?”

_Is she alive?_

_Is she okay?_

_Is she breathing?_

_Is she still with me?_

“She’s going to make a full recovery.”

The words hit him so violently the air is forced from his lungs as if he’s been struck there. His head dips with a sound that can only be described as tortured, as the relief that’s been teasing him for so long is finally experienced. She’s going to be okay. She’s going to be okay. She’s alive. Somewhere in this building, she’s alive and breathing and okay and she’s made it back to him. She held on, she’s survived and she’s going to be okay. She’s going to be okay.

“The anaesthesia wore off and we’ve given her something far more controlled for the pain. There’s no reason to believe that the bio-stimulant was damaged, so we just need to test her physical responses now she’s awake.”

Through his relief, through the thankful laughter at his side, he realises what they’ve held back. She’s okay, but it’s untested. She might still have lost a precious part of herself, something she’s already lost. “And you haven’t-?”

“She refuses to open her eyes,” the doctor tells him, a smile flickering across his face. “Apparently you made her a promise.”

_You’re going to wake up. And when you do, I’m going to be right there next to you, the first thing you see, okay?_

Oliver smiles, running his hand over his face. When did he last smile? He hasn’t smiled today, not a real smile, not one he hasn’t fabricated just for her benefit. But this, this is a real smile. Because she’s not just okay, she’s her. She’s still her. This hasn’t dampened her spirit, like he fears every time he almost loses her. She’s lying somewhere in this hospital, with her eyes closed out of sheer determination all because he’s promised to be the first thing she sees when she wakes up, and she’s still her.

“Yeah,” he half laughs. “Yeah, I did.”

“So she’s okay?” Donna checks, as if she needs to have it confirmed for her one more time. “She’s not in any pain?”

“Not at all,” the doctor smiles. “She’ll need to stay for a few days, but as long as her incision starts to heal nicely, we’re happy for her to serve out her recovery at home.”

At home. Home where he can take care of her. Home where he can set her up with that Netflix marathon of Orphan Black she’s been wanting to do, and maybe that blister on her left foot will heal because she’s been spending far too much time in those pink shoes that devastate her though she can’t stand to leave them sitting in the closet. Home where he can lie beside her and see her smile and let his unfold with her.

Because he’s going to marry her. She’s alive and he’s going to have a life with her; a long, happy life. If he must live to the age of eighty-six, he’d rather spend each of those years as her husband, as the father of her children, he wants to share summer vacations and powerful companies and beautiful children and precious grandchildren and he wants to share it all with her. He doesn’t want to miss a single moment.

He doesn’t regret a single moment.

—-

“Hey..”

She’s lying on her back when he enters her room. He remembers the first time he saw her like this, when he’d questioned if she should be lying that way, but he knows that she can’t feel anything from the painkillers, and that she’s comfortable. He knows because the moment he speaks, barely above a whisper as he falls into the seat at her side, a smile graces her lips.

Oh, God, she’s beautiful when she smiles. She’s always radiant, but her smile? That smile’s gotten him through some of the hardest days of his life, just to see a glimmer of it cross her painted lips before his demons have come for him is enough to keep him going, and he knows that he’ll cling to the memory of this smile when the memories of an office saturated with her blood haunt him in the night.

“Hey,” she whispers back, reaching out blindly until he wraps his hand around hers. His other hand falls down onto her knee. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, right here,” he reminds her softly, planting a kiss on her knuckles. “I promised.”

“You did promise,” she nods against the pillow.

He hums, a smile of his own ever present as he watches her. He love her half-sleeping, loves her on Sunday mornings when she’s barely awake to speak to convince him not to go for his run and to stay with her again. “So how about you open those eyes for me and we both live up to our ends of the deal?”

And she does. First a flicker, then a show of blue that blinks away for a few seconds before she’s gazing back at him.

It’s like coming home.

“Hey, beautiful.”

“Hi,” she whispers back, her gaze never wavering as his mists over.

He’s not ashamed by it. This day has been horrifying.

“Doctor’s want you to move your legs,” he tells her.

She swallows, a flicker of hesitation crossing her features before she releases a breath. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs through a smile. “They said you’re going to be just fine.”

He can see the relief that washes through her at that, but her breath still tremors. “I’m nervous,” she confesses. Because she’s been here before. She’s been here with an urge to move but no follow through, she’s shut her eyes and wiggled her toes but they haven’t responded. She’s felt failed by her own body before, and he knows from that one admission that leaves her lips that she cannot survive this with the grace she adopted the first time.

“Don’t be…” he assures her, his gentle grin never dropping as the hand on her knee started tapping ever so gently.

She gasps, biting down on her lip as the tears well in her eyes. “Oh.”

Oliver frowns. “Oh?”

Felicity swallows, tightening her grip on his hand. “I love you too.”

He glances down at the hand he’s placed on her knee, and he understands. It’s a subconscious habit he has, the way his hand taps out ‘I love you’ in morse code against the side of her kneecap. It started in the car when they left Starling almost a year ago, when the peace of their drive was a shame to disrupt with words. He’d tap, she’d smile, and his affections were communicated. It evolved into a sneak touch beneath tables at dinner, later to a sweet reminder that they could survive anything, even returning to the darkness.

“You…you felt that?” He marvels, swallowing down his own bout of emotions.

She nods through her tears. “Yeah… I was meant to, right?” She checks.

“I…the last few times, you haven’t…” he breaks off, not wanting to draw her back into a dark memory.

“You used to do it all the time,” she notes, almost fondly. As if he’s given her back something precious. He supposes he has.

“I never stopped, Felicity,” he assures her.

Because he never did. He tapped out his code when he sat beside her in the hospital last time, when he felt guilty for leaving her alone, when he took her back home and needed that closeness with her as she lay beside him, no longer entangled with him.

“Oh,” she whispers.

He nods, squeezing her hand a little tighter. “Every time I’d hope, and now…”

“I can feel you,” she finishes for him, before she clamps down on her lip once again. “What if I’d never felt it? What if I could never…”

“I’d still do it,” he cuts her off.

“Why?”

His gaze softens, and sometimes, in these moments, he knows she still doubts her love for him. Not entirely, because she’s very aware that he loves her, but he knows that sometimes she has trouble believing just how much he loves her. She’s never been loved with this severity before, just as he has never loved this way, and it’s new to them both. “Because the parts you can’t feel are still part of you,” he reminds her. “And I love all parts of you.”

Felicity leans forward, placing her forehead against their joined hands. “I much prefer waking up when you’re here,” she mumbles.

He can’t deny that. He can’t even acknowledge the glimmer of guilt that settles in his stomach to remember that he wasn’t there last time, because this time he’s here. “I’m going to like it a lot more when I can see you waking up in bed at home.”

“When can I go home? As soon as they’re happy I’m healing well?”

“Felicity, you just had major surgery…” he reminds her, not wanting her to get her hopes up too soon.

“Yeah, but I’ve had a lot of those,” she points out. They’re a walk in the park now. Literally.”

The breath of laughter slips out to match her own. “You’ll stay here until they tell you that we can go home,” he warns her, through a deepened smile.

She screws his face up in thought. “That worked last time, but I can get up and walk out now.”

“I’d carry you back,” he tells her simply. But then the silence settles, and he raises his hand from her knee to brush her hair out of her face. “Felicity. You need to say here, with your mother.”

She understands instantly, her happiness dropping as she nods. “Oh.”

“I’ll come back,” he assures her quickly. “I will. I just…”

“Need to find them,” she finishes.

“They’re in police custody,” he explains. “I need to pay them a visit.”

“Oliver…” she starts, and in that moment he knows what she’s thinking - that it’s enough they’ll be locked way, that she can stand to live with them behind prison walls they both know are not as secure as they should be.

But that’s not enough for him.

“Felicity, I _need_ to do this,” he tells her. “I can’t risk them coming back for you.”

“Okay.”

Her simple whisper. _Okay_ , she’s telling him. _Okay, go and do what you need to do. Do this. End this. Stop them. Don’t let this happen to me again._ She’s giving him permission not just to bend their rules, but to shatter them.

“Only if you’re okay with it,” he checks.

Her lip trembles as she thinks it over. She’s fully aware what she’s agreeing for him to do, but there’s reason for it. She’s still scared. There will be nights she wakes with a scream in her throat because she was submitted unwillingly to surgery that she was awake for, that she almost lost everything for, and as if a hostage situation wasn’t enough to bring terrified thoughts, she has torture and pain and near physical loss on top of that.

“Don’t be gone long?” She whispers finally.

He nods, standing as he leans over and kisses her properly. “I’ll take care of that, then bring a bag of our things,” he assures her, ghosting his hand over the curve of her cheek.

She captures his wandering hand. “Our things?”

“If you’re not coming home for a few days, we’ll need some change of clothes,” he points out.

“Oliver-” she starts, but he’s quick to cut her off.

“Do you want the panda slippers or the ugly dog ones?”

The simplicity almost brings tears back to her eyes. Because not all that long ago, they weren’t in this place. They lost their familiarity and they’ve only just gained it back. She hasn’t been back in his life, his arms, his bed, for so long that this doesn’t feel brand new again, and as always, it’s the domesticity, it’s the way that he knows her, is what invokes the strongest emotion from her.

“You’re staying too?” She checks.

He stalls, cradling her cheek more fiercely as his lips return to hers. “Felicity… of course I’m saying.”

“With me?”

“Always,” he breathes against her lips. “You think I’m going to let you be here alone?”

It’s a fair concern, he knows. He’s done it before, and he regrets the comment as soon as he’s said it once he sees her head dip slightly. “I was worried-”

“Don’t be,” he assures her, standing as he places a final kiss to the back of her hand. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Just when he’s about to pull out of her grasp, she tightens her grip, tugging him back to her lightly. “Oliver?”

“Yeah, hon.”

“I want the panda slippers, not the pug ones.”

“Anything,” he agrees, as he slips out of the door.

–

When he was in Shanghai, Oliver learned about the Red String of Fate, a Chinese legend that believed the gods would tie an invisible red cord around the ankles of those destined to meet one another. These people were destined to be lovers, regardless of time, place, or circumstance - bound by a cord which could stretch or tangle, but never break. It lead to the later concepts of soulmates.

He thinks about that idea a lot.

He still doesn’t believe in fate, and he’s not sure he believes in soulmates, but he believes in Felicity Smoak. He believes that life can throw olympic quantities of hurdles at them, and they can survive them. He believes that he has committed horrific, horrendous acts, but that he is also blessed by the love of a beautiful woman.

He cannot believe in fate, because for her to be fated to him he would deserve her, and he does not.

But he is lucky because he does have her. What runs between them is not as fragile as a fated string, not even one that may be unbreakable. They are silk. They are grace under pressure, strong and soft at the same time because beauty can exist in the toughest forms.

It is not a string that gravitates to him. It is nothing as complicated as that. It’s simply her. He loves her, and he wishes to be at her side. He doesn’t need a string to bring him to her side.

She’s all he’ll ever need.


End file.
